


Elapid

by alientongue



Category: OK K.O.! Let's Be Heroes
Genre: Animal Traits, Biting, Oral Fixation, Other, in this case just the fangs, there's a lot about those
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-14
Updated: 2017-09-14
Packaged: 2018-12-29 17:38:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12090030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alientongue/pseuds/alientongue
Summary: Forget a silver tongue, it's his teeth that stand out.





	Elapid

With a dull, solid _thunk_ of organic flesh meeting metal, the hero slammed, back-first, into the pitfall trap’s floor. For a moment they simply lay, breathless and stunned, as the hatch snapped shut two stories above them, and stared into the sudden murk. Then the stun passed, and they realized their breath still hadn’t returned.

Wheezing, they rolled heavily onto their side, one hand braced against the floor and the other kneading desperately below their ribs. They couldn’t breathe—all the air they could fit in their lungs was barely enough for shallow rasping. An icy ache pulsed in their back where they’d hit the ground. While the many thick, durable layers of their clothing had been some insulation from the blow, they were hardly a landing net, and the same ache had settled in their chest, spiking into a sting with every attempt at taking breath. Wasn’t this kind of hurt only supposed to last for a minute or two? 

Their shallow breath shaking, they fumbled with the fastened pocket of their shirt, finally fishing out a laminated card and gripping it in one clammy hand. As dim as the trap was, they could just barely make out the logo printed on it: _The League,_ in bold, blue-and-yellow typeface. Of course, the admittedly-minimally-creative name wasn’t the reason they carried this around—their thumb smoothed over the stylized fingerprint in the center of the card. While not actually possessing any sort of scanner, magic woven into the card would transmit an immediate distress signal if the owner touched that symbol with intent, and while it may have had an uninspired name, The League had an impressive number of heroes at its disposal.

They didn’t have to reach back to know the contents of the second card in their pocket. They had memorized the layout of their Pow Card well enough: the stiff, unflattering photo (even their little sister had looked better in hers), the mediocre portmanteau name below that, and a meager four in large, bold print to cap it all off. This had been a stupid decision, if they were being honest, a stupid decision made when negative seven looked like a healthy challenge of a level. They might’ve even been wrong about that, too, there were rumors that this villain had moved up (down?) to a negative eight by now. In any case, too much for someone like them. At least they’d brought their League membership card. One touch, and much stronger, more capable heroes would dispatched after them to do what they couldn’t. Their fingertip hovered over the symbol—

There was a gentle _click_ as a narrow panel of the wall slid back in the corner of their eye, and the hero started, nearly dropping the card as they scrambled to their feet. Their breath was back and rapid in their chest as they fell into their best battle stance, wide eyes locked on the newly-opened passageway—or more specifically, the silhouette emerging from the gloom inside. They recognized it, but only from posters and Pow Cards. The shape was familiar, and the outline, but then as it moved it was different, taking on fuller, _realer_ dimensions. The labcoat’s tails swayed as the figure walked, their heeled boots clicking against metal, each step careful and fluid. Only one arm swung with their steps, the other crooked at their side, hand hidden in a pocket. They stopped at the doorway, and the dim light spilled across a defined jaw, a prominent, pointed nose, a dark widow’s peak of slicked-back hair…

With a quiet throat-clearing, Professor Venomous met eyes with the hero.

He hadn’t spoken a word before they were skittering back, heart hammering against their ribs, squeezing the card, and their thumb was sliding to the fingerprint symbol before cleared his throat again, loudly (and almost urgently) this time. In the second they froze, he pulled one hand from his pocket before raising both, palms-out. An _I’m not hostile_ gesture.

“Hey. Easy there.” They faltered, grip slackening. He had a voice fit for a villain, that was certain, but not unpleasantly so, a deep, low murmur with faint undertones of something clear and melodic. In all likelihood, listening to it would be a bad idea...but he was keeping his distance, his hands where they could see them, and it really was such a nice voice. Their thumb left the card, and the smallest smile crossed his face with a pleased _hmm._ They swallowed.

“Much better.” There was the clicking of boots again as he started towards them, hands still held at either side of his chest. “Wouldn’t want to make any rash decisions. It’s not good for anyone involved.” He paused, his eyes sweeping down them, and they averted their own as they fidgeted; they had felt inadequate before, but not so crushingly, and not with such a coldness in their fluttering stomach. Unimpressive level aside, they were suddenly aware of the bulky unwieldiness of their thick costume and the sheer _plainness_ of it. Even in just a labcoat, turtleneck, and slacks, Venomous looked exponentially more villainous than however heroic their drab navy wraps were.

“Now, put that back.” The command was as mild as every other word he’d spoken, but they still flinched, attention snapping back to him. He had pointed with one hand at their own hand, and they blinked, uncomprehending, for an instant before realizing they were still holding their membership card. Without thinking, they glanced uncertainly back at his face. He held their stare levelly with half-lidded eyes, then sighed, giving a minute shrug. “Listen, you don’t want this, do you? I’ve seen your card—your level. You don’t want to deal with a villain this strong, and _I_ don’t want to deal with a bunch of overzealous heroes ruining my lair.” He lowered his hands, still palm-up, this time in a gesture of acquiescence. “So how about this. I let you go, you leave me alone and don’t bring any of your friends into it.”

They could feel with abrupt acuteness the sweat welling underneath their many layers of cloth as they hesitated, shifting from foot to foot, eyes darting between Venomous’ hands and the flat line of his lips. Finally, with shaking breath, they inhaled deeply. Palms clammy underneath their gloves, they clutched the card and slipped it back into their pocket, then shot a last look at him before clumsily re-fastening it. They turned back just in time to catch the briefest flash of a toothy smirk across his face—immediately, their throat closed, cheeks flushing. The unhealthy urge to do whatever else he asked, if only to see that again, crossed their mind.

“Good,” he praised, his hands falling back to his sides, the same one as before returning to his pocket. “See, I wish all heroes were so reasonable. Hell, some villains.” Looking away once more, they clasped their hands in front of themselves and knit their fingers together, infinitely grateful their costume wrapped over their mouth. Nobody needed to see them smiling so wide they almost ached, not at this. At least only their little sister was giggle-prone.

The clicking of his boots approaching turned their head back to him, and they took a reflexive step back as he sidled alongside them, eyes drifting to his mouth as their heart pounded. This close, they could make out a dark stippling of stubble against his lavender skin, following the contours of his jaw but never crossing above his lip. The points of his fangs shone dully through the dim in brief snatches as he spoke. “You’re shaking. So you’re not stupid, then...just impulsive.” They rotated to face him as he circled, unsure whether to nod or respond at all, but he continued. “It takes a lot of guts going after someone four levels up. What matters is if your brain catches up, so _congratulations_.” 

He punctuated the last word with a wicked-sounded snicker that set the hero’s blood thrumming, their stomach twisting and mouth going drier. They were against the pit wall, they realized—he’d backed them into it as he paced without their realizing. The fact made their breath hitch; whether out of fear or something else they couldn’t say. Mesmerized, they kept their gaze locked on him, eyes flickering between his own dark, almost black, eyes under their heavy lids, and his slightly-parted lips, a darker iris shade than the surrounding skin.

Venomous looked _right_ like this, the softness dissolving gradually from his expression and a glint in his eye as he took a last step forwards and their back hit the wall. “But still.” Their legs, numb with adrenaline, shook. The undertones in his voice were clearer, now, and they were _sharp_ , as sharp as they were smooth. This was the villain they’d read about. This was the villain they’d been hoping to see. “There is something nice about impulse, isn’t there?” His smirk was constant now, stretched just enough to offer a sliver of his gleaming fangs, the lidding of his eyes devious rather than disinterested, and each word made their heart seize as it raced hard and fast in their chest. They stared, bright red, every muscle taut, before his tongue slipped sinuously over his bottom lip. The impulse became too much to bear.

Shoving aside all beginnings of reconsideration, they grabbed his jaw in two hands, smoothing their thumbs over his lips in a single hurried second before pushing either thumb between his lips. His eyes widened, a short, sharp noise cutting off in his throat and his hands clenching into fists, before he relaxed, albeit with a bemused light in his narrowed eyes, and slackened his jaw. A shuddering breath left them. They could feel his canines already, the fine points of them prickling their skin through their cotton gloves. Carefully, they lowered their thumb, at first rolling it along the point of one to feel that needling pressure, and then pressing the pad of their fingertip to the side. A shiver shot up their spine at the smooth, subdued curve of its surface. They traced it, pressing hard enough to feel the unique texture of enamel. It was like a snake’s fang, long and oddly elegant—thicker, though, enough so that they didn’t worry of snapping it.

Entranced, breath heavy, they ran their thumb along the smaller teeth, relishing each miniscule point digging into cotton, then the subtle ridges of their fronts and the soft gum underneath. They were all so _sharp,_ their hooked shapes perfectly defined in his mouth, and as they reached his molars a tiny choke of a noise escaped them. Rather than the bed of pearly flat bumps they knew from their own human mouth, there were solid, short, jutting fangs, a thick strip of brutal points extending into the firm back of Venomous’ jaw. As if on cue, his jaws pressed closer together, squeezing their fingertip through the glove hard enough to indent the skin and make their nail ache. They nearly swooned.

Unable to stop themselves, they added one pointer finger into his open mouth, then the other, rubbing lines into the backs of his teeth, saliva welling up where each fingertip dug into the soft floor of his mouth. One thumb pressed against his tongue, feeling each shift of muscle under slick skin and the tiny cleft dividing its tip into a shape like the broad end of a heart. The pads of their fingers were beginning to ache, and the cotton of their gloves was soaked through in places, strings of spit stretching from it. His breath was impressively even as it washed warm over their hands.

After an inscrutable amount of time, his hands closed around their adrenaline-jittery wrists, pulling them away from his face. Blood rushing in their blush-reddened ears, they could only watch as he swallowed, resettling his jaw, and wiped a sheen of saliva off his lips with the back of his hand. When he looked back to them, it was with squinted eyes. “That was...impulse.” He composed himself quickly, coughing once before regarding them again with a smirk. “You’re in for a treat, then.”

They had tried to cock their head, an effort to demonstrate they hadn’t _completely_ lost themselves, but it failed as they jolted at his hands on them, one at their collarbone, the other at their shoulder beginning to pull aside their costume. The adrenaline shot back, strong as ever, rising with every inch of skin bared. He was being careful, moving a layer at a time, undoing fabric where necessary. The thought crossed their mind to just take it off themselves—but Venomous’ touch, whether skin-to-skin or nothing but the pressure of him deliberately, slowly undoing their top, knotted their stomach and left their knees trembling, and they could barely breathe by the time he’d left their shirt and wraps hanging off their shoulder, fisting their hands in his labcoat as he leaned in.

For a moment, their fine body hair stood on end with his breath, their skin tingling wherever the warmth and moisture settled, and then his parted, touch-swollen lips touching to their clavicle had them shivering again, violently, as they heaved a high-pitched sigh. He didn’t give them more than a second before scraping his teeth against them, the points of his fangs digging in, testing the give of their flesh. His long, arced canines, fangs in the textbook sense of the term, were first, the ache and pressure of them against the hero’s skin building to a sharp, electric burst of pain, each tooth stabbing in to the base with barely any resistance, followed near-immediately by the shorter, equally sharp, front row. 

They gasped, at the edge of whimpering, burying their head in his shoulder at the sensation. It _hurt,_ as much as they’d expect from being bitten that deep, but at the same time...they could feel every arch and point they’d traced, down to the ridges where each tooth met, against the twitching muscle of their shoulder. His grip, on the side of their neck and around their upper arm, served well to distract from the pain, too, as he lapped the blood welling from their wounds. Each puncture stung freshly as he mouthed.

With each passing second, though, it grew more bearable. Every nerve had turned fuzzy and electric, their skin crawling in rapidly alternating hot and cold, the teeth pressing into them and the hands holding onto them melting into the same numb sensation. They were drifting, somehow, far away—the gloom of the pit had turned bright and indistinct, the muted gray of the wall bleeding into Venomous’ dark hair, and their own body was impossibly heavy. They had never noticed before, either, how hot and leadlike their blood was in their veins. It pounded through their head loudly, louder than their own thoughts. Were they thinking? They couldn’t tell. They were so dizzy, too light to stay anchored in their own skull. All that seemed real was the liquid burning in their shoulder.

It was the last thing to go as they slumped, breathing fluttering and eyelids weighted shut.

**Author's Note:**

> if it bites you and you die it's venomous
> 
> i put off making this garbage for a week afterwards but it was very much inspired by the good teeth shots + smooth-talking we got in TKO. ian if you're out there i'll pay cash money to make venomous a snake man


End file.
